Smile
by Painsmyenvying
Summary: [First one in a series of MGR drabbles, centered around Raiden and Sam.] After the events in MGR, it turns out Sam isn't as dead as Raiden firmly believed. After all, he'd killed him with his own hands, well, sword...


"—_Pretty boy._"

That voice was unmistakable. It made Raiden turn his head sharply, jerk it around impossibly fast, because _that voice_ was the last thing he had been expecting to hear ever again. It was impossible, that voice wasn't supposed to _exist_ anymore.

And when Raiden turned, he saw him.

_This can't be. He's dead._

The moment Raiden turned and saw Samuel Rodrigues—because _of course_ it was Sam—, the cyborg could practically feel the remains of his sanity slip away.

_I've finally lost my mind._

But Raiden wasn't hallucinating, no—this was the real Sam, very much alive. A new exosuit, looking exactly like the one he had _supposedly_ _died_ in, the same mechanical right arm that was sticking out so prominently. His brown hair was tied into a ponytail as usual, some strands falling out and framing his forehead and face oh-so-casually—and of course, he was grinning. That trademark shit-eating grin of his, flashing a set of gleaming white teeth, lips parted crookedly and curling upwards on the left side. And his eyes… oh, his eyes were _glistening_. That Brazilian piece of shit had the smuggest expression taped to his face, and _oh god_, he was enjoying his _return from the realm of the dead_ to the fullest.

Raiden couldn't do anything else but stare. Downright gape at him. He looked as if he'd seen a fucking ghost, and in Raiden's mind, he was doing just that. Sam was supposed to be dead! He himself had killed him! Wolf had _confirmed_ it! What the _fuck _was going on? Raiden's mind could not compute. His right eye open wide in shock, the cyborg just stood there, frozen in his tracks and unable to articulate a single word. Or well, let his voicebox speak his mind. It was like killing Vamp for the first time and then having him come back to torment him again. _God_, why did these kinds of things only happen to _him_? How _cursed_ was he? No, _fucking no_. He definitely had to be hallucinating. Sam wasn't some crazy-ass vampire pumped with nanomachines. He was goddamned _human_, and he goddamned _died_.

He couldn't simply come back to life like it was no big deal.

… And yet that didn't change the fact that Jetstream Sam was striding towards him in that very moment in his characteristic, cocky manner. It didn't matter how many times Raiden repeated to himself that he was _dead_, that this _wasn't_ happening; Sam was _still_ strutting towards him. And he didn't seem like he was going to disappear anytime soon.

Somewhere in the back of his head, the cyborg felt a tinge of relief.

Raiden's subconscious also noticed a small detail, something that was off—Sam wasn't carrying his HF Blade, his blood red Murasama. Of course not, since said blade had been in Raiden's possession since he had fought and defeated Armstrong amidst the remains of the Metal Gear EXCELSUS. Ever since that day, he'd been carrying Sam's blade, wielding it to preserve the Samurai's memory, so his spirit would live on. So, of course, Raiden was carrying the Murasama on that day, too, secured in its sheath on the cyborg's back.

Sam waved at Raiden, shit-eating grin not even making an attempt to vanish. This was the face of a man who knew the kind of impact he was having.

"You're a pain in the ass to track down, y'know?" he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

To hear his voice again somehow made Raiden snap out of his stupor, and the cyborg let out a furious snarl. "And _you_ were supposed to be dead."

Sam chuckled, lifting one hand to the back of his head. "Oh, well, that's kind of a long story…" he trailed off, cracking a smile again. "But more importantly, where's my Murasama? I hope you've been taking good care of 'er." He swiped his gaze over Raiden questioningly.

… Raiden was brooding. It was a miracle that he wasn't glowing red yet. It took Raiden two seconds. Two seconds in which Sam was _honestly_ awaiting an answer and didn't see it coming— until it was far too late. Two seconds, and Raiden hurled himself at Sam, punching that Brazilian bastard's face so hard he knocked him out.

And _fuck_ if it didn't feel good.

A while later, Sam woke up, rasping out a small groan. His jaw hurt like hell, and his head was pounding. He had been sat up against a wall, and a fuming Raiden was pacing up and down, waiting for him to regain consciousness.

When Raiden heard him, he turned around sharply to face the Samurai—he looked ready to punch him into unconsciousness again. Sam held up both hands in surrender and attempted to speak, but pain shot up to his head when he opened his mouth and Sam only groaned again, one hand now clutching his jaw. He gave Raiden an anguished look, but Raiden merely snorted. The Samurai slowly worked his jaw, trying to suppress the small winces that in turn made the cyborg look somewhat self-satisfied. He still hadn't spoken another word.

"Was that punch really necessary?" Sam mumbled, still holding his jaw. The cold look he got from Raiden was answer enough. "Oh, _come on_, are you going to give me the silent treatment now?" Fuck, that punch had been something. Truth be told, Sam had never doubted Raiden's punching skills, not when he had a pair of metal hands with fucking metal _claws_ decorating each and every one of his fingertips. If anything, he was probably sounding more like a retard right now. Talking was still too big of an effort.

But hey, had Raiden's upper lip quirked upwards just now?

"Jack, hey, Jack," Sam slurred, giving it another try, "_Raiden_. I'm alive. Don't I get, like, a smile or something for surviving?" He worked his jaw once more, hoping that numb pain would soon go away. "I promise I'll tell you the whole story, just… just don't knock me out again, okay?" he added quickly, before Raiden's glare could turn even darker. The cyborg towered in front of the Brazilian, who tried to force his lips into a smile.

Too soon—Sam winced again.

"_Shut up, Sam_." Raiden responded, trying hard not to actually smile. The sight of that bastard was indeed amusing.

And Sam wasn't about to give it a rest. "C'mon, give us a smile."

"No."

"Please? _Pretty boy please_?"

That was enough to elicit another snarl from Raiden. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't stab you right now—with your own sword."

Sam's eyes lit up, his hand slowly letting go of his abused jaw. "Oh, so you _do_ have it. Good boy."

"—Give me one good reason."

"—'Cause I'm charming like that. And not to forget that I'm _alive_."

"I said a _good_ reason." Raiden repeated through gritted teeth.

Sam frowned, groaning. That damned tone of Raiden wasn't helping his headache at all. "Excuse you, that's a damn good reason." He actually sounded confused and somewhat offended. And maybe it was just that what made Raiden smile faintly.

"Tch, as if..."

The Samurai would've wanted to roll his eyes at the cyborg, but he feared his head wouldn't be able to handle that just yet. "_Especially_ snarky today, aren't we?"

Raiden cocked his head, still smiling.

Sam rested his head against the wall, slowly closing his eyes. He suddenly felt like his stomach was going to somersault, so he decided to open them again. Then he saw Raiden. A small quirk of his own lips was the best he could manage at that moment.

"Good, I got you to smile."

Raiden immediately went serious again.

Sam's lips quirked again and he huffed—a deep, rumbling sound that was supposed to be a laugh.

Raiden's right hand went to the Murasama on his back.

"_Oh, come on!_" Sam complained. This is was just unfair. Raiden was not going to attack him with his own fucking blade. No, this was simply not happening.

The cyborg made no further attempt to unsheathe the sword, but he didn't retract his hand either. "Then shut the _fuck_ up, Sam. You're gonna get permanent head damage if you keep on talking. And don't move, either."

Sam pursed his lips. For fuck's sake, even _that_ hurt. And Raiden was looking way too smug for the Samurai's own tastes. Deep inside, though, he supposed he _deserved_ it.


End file.
